Mazen Kerbaj - Resident: Sea

Photo: Mazen Kerbaj

For as long as I can remember, I have had a connection to the sea. Since I was a young child, I can recall staring endlessly at the sea and the horizon while daydreaming of traveling there in order to explore what lies beyond it, to experience an adventure similar to the ones I read about in comic books, to get lost, to escape society, or – perhaps more realistically – to flee the civil war that began the year I was born and lasted 15 years.

I am 48 years old and, except for a few short trips and sea outings, I have never traveled by boat. The desire to escape, retreat, go on adventures, or get lost is as strong as it has always been, even if my motivations have changed: I want to go far away from my habits, ties, responsibilities, and social interactions, far away from my comfort zone, to look for the child that I once was and who got lost along the way.

The sea is the best place for me to do that, not only because of its remoteness, endlessness, and uneventfulness, but also because it is the place I have longed for in my drawings and music for the past three decades.

Mazen Kerbaj

Creator's Note

Some of the answers I’ve been giving to the question “How was your trip?”

It was boring and depressing. It was great.

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I embarked on the ship as a visual artist and a musician; I disembarked six weeks later as a writer and photographer.

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If “going to sea” is the most romantic expression related to maritime navigation, “being on an oil tanker” is the least glamorous.

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I went to find myself and the sea. I found the sun instead.

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I took with me 500 euros in drawing material; it all came back still wrapped in cellophane.

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Like a prophet who’s got cold feet

I walked on a ship that walks on water.

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The cheesiness of sunset is overrated.

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I thought it would take me weeks to get used to the city and its crowdedness again. It took me one beer.

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Besides the captain and myself, no one on board seemed to like the sea. I came to doubt the captain’s sincerity; and mine as well.

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I’ve crossed the equator for the first time; there is nothing to see there.

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There is no pride in having sea legs, but I HAVE SEA LEGS! I HAVE SEA LEGS!

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Blue.

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We went from the Emirates to Greece, all around Africa. It took us 40 days. We could have done it in less than 15 by taking the Red Sea route, but it’s dangerous to navigate there nowadays because of the Houthi fighters’ heroic acts of solidarity with the slaughtered people of Gaza.

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The engine room of a 270-meter oil tanker produces the most complex and ever-changing electro-acoustic site-specific retro-futuristic symphony I’ve ever had the chance to listen to.

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Every now and then, I would look at my watch to make sure that time was still not passing.

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The food was not that bad.

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Some questions remained unanswered. For example, when you are in the middle of the sea and you see a ship far on the horizon, does this necessarily mean that this ship sees you on the horizon?

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For 40 days, the only women I saw were the Greek half-naked botoxed bimbos singing the most awful Greek pop shit (it’s like pop shit, but in Greek) on the giant TV screen of the officers’ recreation room.

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Some waves are Joydivisionesque.

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The sea air was less pure than I fantasized. Our chimney continuously smoked the oil we needed to convey the oil we were on our way to sell.

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At age 48, I finally discovered the joy (and misery) of a daily life revolving around three fixed-time regular meals.

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And the Persian Gulf became the Strait of Ormuz

And the Strait of Ormuz became the Gulf of Oman

And the Gulf of Oman became the Arabian Sea

And the Arabian Sea became the Indian Ocean

And the Indian Ocean became the Cape of Good Hope